


I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am

by Lilsciencequeen



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adorable FitzSimmons (Agents of SHIELD), Crack, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hunter is a bro, Las Vegas, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/pseuds/Lilsciencequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, there was nothing that could possibly go wrong with FitzSimmons going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate their one month anniversary. Really, nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Champagne, Cocaine, Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know Vegas. I have seem The Hangover and that is about it. Everything I know comes from stereotypes and I hope not to be offensive here. I just wanted somewhere that would allow parts of the story to happen. And this is rated M for a reason. And all titles will connect to the chapters. Please enjoy.

A weekend in Las Vegas. That was what Daisy had given them for their one month anniversary. A weekend in Vegas. At first, Fitz had objected, saying that it wasn’t something that either of them would enjoy, but Jemma had placed her hand on his arm, convincing him that there was more to the area than just drinking and gambling. Fitz, after hearing what Jemma had to say on the matter, agreed. He knew that she needed a weekend away, time away from the base. They had both been through hell these past number of months, Jemma especially. Maybe some time away would do them both some good.

Pulling up to The Bellagio, both of the scientists couldn’t help but stare in awe at the building. It was somewhat iconic, a landmark of Las Vegas with its fountains. They honestly couldn’t believe all the effort Daisy had went to give them a memorable anniversary.

“Fitz,” Jemma said, rolling her eyes as she slammed the door of the car that S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever so generously provided to them. She nodded at the hotel attendant as they took the keys of Fitz, taking the car to the parking lot. The bags would be in the room shortly, and she decided that maybe she could get used to living this life. Or maybe not, she wasn’t sure how comfortable she would be with people doing everything for her. “It was one guy. You could have easily taken him in a fight if it came to that. And anyway, what harm was he doing?”

“What harm was he doing? He was trying to get you to buy drugs!” Fitz exclaimed, wondering why Jemma was taking this as she was.

Jemma rolled her eyes, before taking his hand in her own. “Come,” she said, her eyes wide with excitement as she turned to look at him. “I want to see our room. Daisy didn’t tell us anything about it.”

What they had been bickering about had occurred a few hours previous, at what seemed to be a somewhat shady gas station, just outside of Las Vegas. Fitz had filled the tank, and went into the old run down building to pay, while Jemma had remained in the car, the soft mellow tunes of some unknown indie band coming from the radio. Her feet were upon the dash, her eyes close and she allowed the gentle breeze coming in from the window that was slightly rolled down to take her to a peaceful place. One where she was able to relax. And that’s when she heard it. A faint tapping on the window. A feeling as if someone was staring in at her. She decided to ignore it.

But then came the voice, small, anxious, unsure of themselves. “Emm, excuse me.” _Just ignore them,_ Jemma thought to herself. Hopefully they would go away. Unfortunately for her, that was not the case. “Sorry, my name’s Todd. Would you like to buy the drugs?”

That was not what she was expecting, but she connived not to pay attention, really hoping now that this approach would work (it worked for bees and wasps didn’t it? Most of the time anyway).

Still this man, this Todd, did not leave her alone. He asked her again, and Jemma decided to reply, hoping that after this, he would get the message. “Sorry, no I would not like to buy the drugs.”

“Oh,” Todd’s voice sounded as if she had deeply upset him, like a wounded puppy. “I was kind of needing the money.” Jemma decided that now would be the time to let out a sigh. She turned around to face him. If he sounded like a wounded puppy, he certainly looked like one. She wasn’t going to help to fund his poor young man’s illegal habit. After the Hub, she was avoiding getting into bad girl shenanigans as much as she could.

“It wasn’t for drugs,” he began. “It was for my rock opera.”

Jemma’s eyebrow rose, involuntarily, at this. That certainly wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. But how did she know if he were telling the truth or not? He could be lying for all that she knew, with the intent on making her part with her money. They continued this miniature stare off, and there was something about him that seemed familiar. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but there was definitely something familiar about him. Maybe it was the beanie.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice cutting across the gas station. Fitz’s voice. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Todd gave a shrug, turning to face Fitz, who somehow managed to look intimating with a brown paper bag of snacks in his hand. “I was trying to get your girlfriend to buy the drugs,” he eventually settled on.

This took Fitz back. “Why? Why would you get her to buy the… why are you trying to force her to buy drugs?” He was stuttering over his words, obviously having some difficulty finding the ones that were best for this situation.

“I need to fund my rock opera.”

Fitz just shook his head, reached into his pocket with the hand that was not supporting the bag and pulled out a crisp $5 bill. He shoved in Todd’s hand.  Todd’s eyes lit up at this gift. “Thank you,” he whispered, still staring at the bill. “The galaxy will thank you for this!”

Fitz muttered that it was no worry, that helping to guard the galaxy was something that he aspired to do. Climbing into the car beside Jemma, she turned to him smiling.

“What?” he asked her.

She gave a laugh, soft, sweet and he felt his heart ache. He was so in love with her, at everything that she did, everything she was. “You’re too cute,” was all she said, once again closing her eyes.

“The Honeymoon Suite? The Honeymoon Suite? The? Honey? Moon? Suite?” Fitz said, his voice rising with each time that he said it. There was something similar to annoyance laced in his voice, but it wasn’t at the receptionist.

The receptionist then nodded, double checking, and triple checking the booking on the computer system. “Sir, that’s what it says here. FitzSimmons. The 12 to the 14 of February 2016, the Honeymoon Suite.”

That had cemented it. What colour there was in Fitz’s face, drained. He nodded, thanking her and accepting they room keys. “Enjoy your stay,” she said sweetly, and all that Fitz could do was nod numbly.

“We will,” Jemma smiled, wrapping her arm around Fitz’s waist, and leading him away to the lifts. “Come on sweetie,” she murmured, laying her head upon his shoulder.

“I’m gonna kill Daisy for this,” was all that he muttered, through gritted teeth in reply.

The Honeymoon Suite was truly something. Large, the warms a pale cream, with a red heart shaped bed in the middle. A middle aged man was waiting for them in the room, the cases beside him. “Dr and Dr FitzSimmons,” he nodded to them. “Your stuff has been brought up, and your car is in space number 084.”

“Thank you,” Fitz said, now having regained some of his composure (which had absolutely nothing to do with that passionate kiss that they had shared in the elevator, and the whispers from Jemma of what was to come).

“Before I leave,” the man said again, he focus momentarily on Jemma, who seemed more interesting in looking around the room. It was so unlike anything that she had ever seen before. “A Mr Hunter has left you a gift.” He was gesturing to a bucket of ice, a bottle of champagne and two glasses nestled in t. “And he asked me to give you this.”

Fitz accepted the thick paper with thanks, and the man took his leave, not before wishing them a long and happy marriage.  

Jemma was wondering around the room, throwing open the doors to the balcony and allowing the nightlife of Las Vegas to overwhelm her. Fitz, while she was distracted, opened the envelope.

_“Congrats on getting laid”_

The type that had been used for it was elegant, so very unlike the message that it displayed. The message, however, was very Hunter like. Quickly stuffing it in his pockets before Jemma could see, Fitz lifted the bottle.

“What did it say?” Jemma asked, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind him, her lips dancing down his neck, her teeth nipping at his skin.

He shrugged. “Nothing.” Popping the cork, he allowed the liquid to run down the side of the glass, and drip onto the carpet. Picking up a glass, he filled it, and passed it to Jemma, now sitting cross legged on the bed.

Once he had filled his own, he took his place beside her, and they raised their glasses, toasting to one another.


	2. Bar to Bar (at the Speed of Sound)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here with have the science babies display some PDA, do a bar crawl and meet up with an old face that they would rather not meet up with....

“Jemma,” Fitz complained. “We do not need to go to an Irish, Scottish and English bar!”

Jemma rolled her eyes, and laced her fingers in his. “We do. I have to see if they’re like the ones back home. Dad took me to the one near us all the time.”

“Even when you were younger?”

She nodded, thinking back to the days where everything was peaceful (but she didn’t know Fitz in those days). “Most families have a Sunday lunch, a roast, but me and dad went to the local, sat outside if it was nice and had fish and chips. Every week without fail. Well except for when…” she trailed of there, there was no need for her to say what she had planned to say. Fitz knew. Fitz always knew.

“Okay,” he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, something that she always found comfort in. “Let’s see if they’re anywhere near as good as the ones back home.”

The Scottish pub, according to Fitz, was nothing like the ones that he had been to back home. Jemma had been the voice of reason, saying that it didn’t matter. That Scotland was a large place, extending beyond the reaches of his Glasgow cottage and that she was enjoying the different atmosphere there. Fitz agreed to stay, just for her.

The second one they went to was the Irish one, and since neither of them had really had any experience of an Irish one before, they had nothing on which to base their opinions on. Still, there was something inviting about it, and one drink soon turned into three.

“Home after this?” Jemma asked, hand now wrapped around Fitz’s waist. He nodded, and helped to steady her every time that she stumbled (which was too often at this point. And Fitz knew what was coming. Jemma spent the first hour of being drunk stumbling, and after that hour… he couldn’t let that happen again).

He nodded. “Of course. We can’t let the suite go to waste.”

“Are you mad?” she asked, turning to face him.

“About what?”

She shrugged. “Everything…” But Fitz heard what she was really asking. Are you mad at me? But he wasn’t. He could never be mad at her. They had talked everything through after his return from Maveth, and Jemma had confirmed that _he_ was the one for her. The only one. But she needed time, something that Fitz had respected. Until that night four weeks ago...

“Jems,” he said, his voice soft, reassuring. “I’ve told you that I can never be mad at you, and there is absolutely nothing that you’ve done wrong.

The look on her face, one that he knew oh so well, told him that she was going to protest, that she wanted to protest but he leaned forward, allowing his lips to dance over hers. It was soft, sweet, tender. Breaking apart, a whimper coming from Jemma, she didn’t want this to end, he whispered in her ear, promises of what was to come and allowed his teeth to faintly tug at her ear, teasing and taunting her. Another whimper escaped her this time. She loved the teasing, but a part of her hated it. Hated the waiting. And Fitz knew that. He knew just what he had to do. But, she supposed, the waiting made everything worth it.

Fitz allowed their lips to meet once more. Jemma’s hands instinct went to his hair, burying themselves in the mass of curls. Fitz’s hands, meanwhile, wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close, protecting her. They were so engrossed in each other, so in love with each other that they missed the wolf whistle that was directed at them, and the shout of “Get a room!”

Pulling apart, all that they could do was giggle, lost in each other’s eyes.

“Ready?” he asked, extending his hand to her. She nodded, and hand in hand, they walked into their final bar for the night.

The English one, though she may have been somewhat biased, was Jemma’s personal favourite. The bar itself was one of a dark polished wood, worn but loved, and a roaring fire in a heath of grey stone was the centre piece. There was a table free next to it, and while Jemma curled up in one of the chairs, an overstuffed arm chair with a back that was much higher than necessary, Fitz was up to the bar.

A figure, one that was not Fitz, took the seat opposite her. “Sorry,” Jemma began, fully intent on apologising if she had taken their seat by mistake when she final registered the face that was opposite her.

“Brad?” she asked. It had been years she had last seen years ago now. And one that she hadn’t particularly wanted to see again. Her and Brad had not ended on the best terms (see cheating with roommate and saying that she was best left in the past).

“Jemma,” he said, his voice welcoming. It sent shivers up her spine.

“Jems?” another voice said, this one warm and full of concern. “Everything okay…” Then Fitz saw him too. “Emm…” he began, unsure of how to ask Brad to move from his seat. He and Brad did not have the best history either (see receiving a black eye).

“Fitz,” came Brad’s voice. Jemma realised now that he was drunk. “I was just chatting to Jemma.” _You said one word_ , Jemma though, before Fitz interrupted, hopefully saving her from whatever hell that this was inevitably going to become. “Well, that’s where I was going to sit, and we were only gonna have a drink before heading back to the suite.”

Brad raised an eyebrow, obviously in shock at seeing Fitz like this. It was so unlike the Fitz that Brad had known. Then again, Fitz was unlike the Fitz that Brad had known. “Nonsense,” he said, waving a hand, gesturing towards a spare chair. Fitz shot him a glare, set both of the glasses down on the table, before climbing into the chair with Jemma. She adjusted herself so she was able to fit on his lap. It was when they were like this that he realised just how thin, just how small she was. It was Brad’s (from Communications) voice that brought him back. He was talking to Jemma about how he used to be able to drink a pint faster than her, that she used to never be able to hold her drink. The glare that Jemma was giving him was one that Fitz certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. She raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him.

She reached for her pint, and Brad reached for Fitz’s, (If they were really going to challenge each other, the least that he could do was pay for his own, the engineer thought) and Fitz reached for Jemma, laying a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered into her ear, so that only she could hear. She shook her head, staring at him with a steely determination that said that she _had_ to do this. He nodded, understanding what she had to do. She may have been unable to hold her alcohol in the past, and she was stumbling now, so this was very probably a bad idea… but damn if he wasn’t going to let her beat her ex at something that he used to relentlessly tease her about.

“Loser buys a round!” Brad announced to the entire bar, prompting a cheer from all of them. Fitz wanted the ground to swallow both him and Jemma at this point. When a small crowd had gathered around the table, and the chanting began, the once couple raised their glasses to their lips.

Everyone was somewhat surprised that the small British girl had somehow managed to finish her drink before the muscular guy opposite her. Everyone except Fitz that was. As Brad, reluctantly and disgruntled, went up to buy the entire bar a round, Fitz allowed his lips to litter her neck with kisses, ignoring as her shoulder jerked up as they tickled her. And that one round soon turned into two…

That soon turned into two…

Into three…

And into four…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brad from Communications is back. If you've not read Maybe It's Not My Weekend, But It's Gonna Be My Year, which can be read [ here ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5594587) if you are interested. Due to the fact that they are now very drunk, things are going to get crazy. Thanks for reading, and for the support. I hope that you enjoyed.


	3. I Had A Cane And A Party Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, I actually am not aa fan of this chapter, its more filler than anything else but I hope that you guys are able to enjoy it okay. Thanks for reading, and apologises for the wait.

As the number of rounds rose, the common sense of the two scientists shrunk. The night was getting later, and Vegas was truly alive. They walked the streets, arm in arm. Their intent was to go back to their suite, to sleep it off and suffer whatever consequences that they would the next morning. As drunk as Jemma was, she was still surprisingly steady in her heels, Fitz helping keep her up anyway. They were laughing at everything and nothing when Jemma suddenly went silent.

“Jemma?” he asked, turning to look at her. She had stopped in the middle of the pavement, people pushing past her, giving her looks of annoyance. She didn’t reply, clearly lost in a drunken daze. “Jemma!” he repeated, a little louder than he had intended.

“Mmh?” she looked at him, her eyes bright and full of life. “I was thinking.”

When he clearly didn’t understand what she was trying to say. “Oh, I was just thinking about how I missed your birthday and your birthday…and and….” She lost her train of thought but quickly regained it. “Mine! I also missed my birthday!”

Fitz’s eyes widened as he understood what she was trying to say. “But I gave you your stuff, we had a meal the other week…”

“Yes,” she said, now shaking his arm trying to emphasis her point. “But we didn’t party! We need to party properly!”

She was still shaking his arm, clearly desperate to party. Fitz knew that this would be a bad idea, but that thought was soon overtaken by drunken Fitz, who told him to wise up, that he couldn’t get any more drunk, that a little alcohol couldn’t possibly hurt him. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. He was off duty for the night. Well, his common sense had been forcibly kicked off duty when drunken Fitz had overthrown him, but common sense would be getting the last laugh in the morning.

“Fitz!” came Jemma’s whine, long and high. “Please!” It knocked him out of the thoughts, somewhat confusing to him.

He smiled at her. “I know where exactly we can go…”

***

However, they took a slight detour. To a shop that sold party supplies. Jemma had forced Fitz inside, saying that they would be unable party without a party hat. Fitz had allowed him to be let in, knowing, even in his drunken state, that arguing with a drunken Jemma would be an extremely bad idea. She looked about, up and down the aisles, stuffing everything that she wanted into a basket that was hanging haphazardly off her arm. Both of them were totally oblivious to the look that the shopkeeper was wearing upon his face. He looked like he wanted to give up, that he wanted to leave. He had been trying to get those who were drunk and in his shop out all night. For everyone that he got out, another two came out. However there was something about these two, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He scratched his beard, vowing that no matter what happened after this, no matter how hard the next number of drunks protested. He had shows to catch up on.

“Hi!” the woman said, her voice slurred and her accent. A tourist. He shook his head but couldn’t help but be thankful that he got his business this way.

He looked in the basket, finding a number of party hats. More than what two people needed. The man had come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. The gesture in itself seemed to be more than one of just love, it seemed to be one of protection. And as time progressed while he scanned the items through, she relaxed into his arms, resting her head on his chest, her hand now in his own. It was clear from the gesture that they had gone through a lot, and he was scared to lose her, and her likewise.

“Party?” he asked, hoping to make conversation with them.

She nodded, the gesture more relaxed than what he had expected it to be like. “I missed our birthdays.” There was something sad about the way that she said it, as if she hadn’t meant to. Like she regretted why she had missed them.

“You can make up for lost time.” He was just putting away the last of the supplies in the bag when he saw the man, yet to say something turn to look at something that he had spotted out of the corner of his eye.

***

Jemma was swinging the plastic bag full of party goods widely around her, anyone left on the street giving her a wide berth so as to avoid being hit by the bag. Fitz was walking some distance behind her, causing her eyes to roll.

“Ugh Fitz,” she whispered. Or so she thought. Shouted would have been the more adept term.

“What?” He couldn’t seem to understand why she was complaining. If she got to wear not one, but three party hats through the streets, then he could use a cane to walk through the streets. “I’m a scholar and a gentleman…”

Jemma scoffed.

“You’re just jealous,” he accused.

“I am not!” She had now turned to face him.

Fitz thought for a minute, but before he could voice his idea out loud, he threw up all over the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I wanna thank you all for the continued support. And anyone who knows the song may have an idea of where this is going...


	4. I Roam The City In A Shopping Cart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is back. Finally. Hope you enjoy this next part!

Once Fitz had managed to stop throwing up on the street, he ~~stole~~ borrowed a shopping cart for her to travel in, saying that the birthday girl needed to ride around in style (despite the fact that it was not her birthday).

“Fitz,” she said, well more like slurred. Jemma’s speech was becoming more and more so by the minute.

“Yes?” Fitz asked in reply, as he leaded against the handle of the trolley and somehow managed to drift around a corner.

“Do you think Coulson would allow us to have one of these for missions?”

“I don’t see why not,” Fitz pounded as they made their way across the road.

“Can you just imagine that?” Jemma though aloud, her drunken brain saying simply anything that it came up with. “May, and like Bobbi using one of these, destroying Hydra?” She started giggling at this thought, lying back in the shopping now, grazing up at the Vegas light. “I think, if we had had that, maybe Hydra would have been defeated years ago.”

“You think?”

She nods, though he can’t see this. “I know. Have you not met Bobbi? She’s perfect!”

Fitz laughed at this, shaking his head. “And here’s me thinking we were here for out anniversary!”

Jemma sat up, shocked at this. “Leo… Leop... Fitz! Why would I ever… You’re…” She paused for a moment, face scrunched up in confusion as she tried to find the correct words to say. “You’re better than perfect. You’re the… what’s better than perfect? Bestest?”

Fitz shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t take English.”

Jemma thought long and hard for a moment. “Fitz. Fitz is better than perfect.”

***

It turns out that Fitz had been pushing them towards a McDonalds, and into the drive-through lane. The woman at the window was less than impressed when they turned up in a shopping cart and not an actual car (though, she supposed, it was better than drunk driving).

“May I take you order?” she asked and Jemma beamed at her, clearly knowing what she wanted (her and Fitz had prepared for this before they went down the lane, not wanting to mess this up).

“Seven chicken nuggets please.”

The woman looked at them “We sell six, nine or twenty.”

“Seven please.”

“Ma’am, we only do the six, nine or twenty.”

“Excuse me,” Fitz said, now sticking his head in the window. “Can we have seven please? It’s her birthday…”

The woman behind the window sighed. “Fine. That’ll be $4.49.”

Jemma handed her $10. “Keep the change,” and away they went to the next window, picking up their nuggets.

***

They enjoyed their meal together, lying in the shopping cart under the stars together, simply enjoying the company of each other.

“I love you,” she said, her words slightly slurred, but to Fitz it didn’t matter. Because just hearing those words from her, simply being with her made him happier than he had even been.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, but she rolled around, allowing her lips to dance over him.

It wasn’t sweet, tender.

It was messy and rough.

But once that was still so full of love.

“I love you,” she said again, tears streaming down her face. Had Fitz been slightly more sober, he would have known that Jemma was reaching her emotional stage of drunkenness.

“I know,” he replied, sitting up and, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close to him.

Her hands were buried in his curls, her fingers ever so slightly digging into his skull as if she never wanted to let go of him, which she didn’t. She had nearly lost him enough in this life time. And for all those that followed.

A slight moan escaped her as he worked his way down from her mouth, his teeth nibbling slightly at her earlobe before making his way down her neck, leaving marks that would remain there for a period of time.

“Fitz,” she said, her voice laced with pure please.

He looked up slightly, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Fitz,” she repeated again. “Please,” she begged, but she wasn’t begging him to stop. She was begging him to _never_ stop. To continue this forever. “I can’t…”

“I know,” he replied. “I can’t lose you either.” The alcohol had made his accent heavier, but to Jemma, all the more beautiful.

Then he whispered something in her ear, something that she could never say no to.

She nodded, looking into those blue, blue eyes and breathed back her reply.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's 4-6 chapters left, not sure exactly how many but hope you enjoyed this one and thanks for the support.


	5. Lost My Mind In A Wedding Gown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more adventures on what happens when these two get so very drunk that they just do what ever they want to. Because why not? Hope you enjoy this one!

It didn’t take them long to get to their destination, Fitz pushing the shopping cart through the early morning streets of Las Vegas.

Thankfully, the chapel was still open.

Hell, it was open twenty-four/seven.

Taking her hand in his own, Fitz helped Jemma out of it, their fingers interlacing with each other’s fingers.

“Hello,” the receptionist said once they had entered the building. “Are you okay?”

Fitz nodded, running his hand nervously across the back of his neck. “You do weddings, right?”

The receptionist nodded, beaming up at them (Jemma was somewhat surprised that she could _even_ understand Fitz at this point with how heavy his accent had gotten, she knew no one else besides her that could understand it when it was this heavy). “Of course,” she said. She began explained the packages they had when she was interrupted by Jemma.

“Wait!” Jemma shouted out. “I don’t have a dress. I need one.” She frowned, her alcohol clouded mind trying to work through something, but whatever it was she said nothing of it.

The receptionist, if it were even possible gave a brighter smile. “We have some.”

“You do?” Jemma’s voice was full of excitement, and she grabbed Fitz’s arm, shaking it up and down. “Fitz! I can get a wedding dress!”

He smiled down at her, placing a kiss to the top of her forehead. “You wanna go get one?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh Fitz, of course I want one! You can’t get married without a wedding dress!”

The receptionist pushed herself from her seat, “Do you want to go together or…?”

They looked at each other, a look saying more than words could.

“She’s gonna go by herself,” Fitz explained, gesturing to Jemma. “Bad luck and all. Don’t wanna piss the cosmos again.” He shook his head, muttering to himself and muttering curses about the universe.

She nodded and turned to Jemma. “Follow me.”

***

It took Jemma an hour to find something that she deemed perfect. Every single one before it hadn’t been big enough, princess-y enough but when she finally got the one that she wanted, her face lit up.

If Jemma had been sober, then she would have disagreed with the dress that she was wearing was now; something that she wouldn’t have wanted for her own wedding that she had been planning since she were a child, not one that was a spur of the moment decision in Vegas. It was oversized, the skirt made up of many, many, many layers of fabric and not something dissimilar to what would be worn in Disney film. Sober Jemma, on the other hand would have liked something more simplistic, something with less skirt layers and more lace.

“You like?” the receptionist asked, finishing curling up her hair.

Jemma nodded enthusiastically. “Fitz will like it, won’t he?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t he?”

Jemma smiled, nodding to herself. “That’s good. Can we get married now?” She turned, spinning to the other woman, whose name she had learned was Nicola.

Nicola held out her hand, helping Jemma up from her position sitting on the floor. “Let’s get you two married.”

***

Fitz lit up as he watched her slightly stumble down the aisle, and once she reached the alter, he wrapped his arms around her, steadying her, and leaned in and place a kiss on her lips, one that was slightly fumbled and clumsy.

The wedding went well, and Jemma and Fitz knew that they shouldn’t be doing this alone, that they should have invited the team and their family to witness this moment, but they were half way across the country (and the world) and wouldn’t have gotten there in time because to them, they _had_ to get married there and then, that there could be no other way.

And anyway, it would be a nice surprise for them to wake up to (they had left more than enough voice mails).

And before they knew it, Fitz was married to Jemma, and Jemma to him. And they shared their kiss, their first kiss as a married couple, not just any old couple.

“I love you,” she whispered extremely loudly to him, her forehead pressed to his. “Dr. FitzSimmons.” She couldn’t help but giggle at hearing her husband’s name said like that.

He took her in, his wife. The woman that he was going to be spending the rest of his life with. “I love you more Dr. FitzSimmons.”

***

Their shopping cart, the chosen mode of transport on this night, the night of their wedding, was still there. No one had stolen it, which Fitz thought was very nice (what Fitz also thought was nice was the bottle of champagne that they had gotten for free to celebrate their wedding. _Well_ , he couldn’t remember if it was free or not, but that was besides that point. It was still a nice thing to have).

After helping Jemma, his wife, clamber back into the shopping cart, who was nearly almost overwhelmed by her wedding dress, they set of again, Jemma breaking into the bottle and pouring a glass for herself. Fitz would be getting his soon, once they found a spot under the stars to enjoy their first morning together as a married couple.

And it didn’t take long for he was soon climbing in after her, clinking glasses together, simply enjoying the company of the other, curled up together, where one was unable to tell where Fitz began and ended and where Jemma began and ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's 4/5 more chapters as their drunk adventure is coming to an end! Thanks very much and I hope you enjoyed.


	6. But I Make These High Heels Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update? Hope you enjoy this one.

Eventually, they had had to abandon the shopping cart, one of the wheels having fell off after hitting a crack in the pavement. Jemma didn’t mind, though she was slightly nervous however about ruining her wedding dress, not wanting to get dirt on the hem of it, but it was Fitz who managed to reassure her that it would be okay. “You’ll still look beautiful,” he slurred. “You’ll still be my perfect wife.” He couldn’t help but giggle at that, at the fact that the woman walking next to him was his wife.

Yes, they were what some people might call extremely drunk, but Fitz disagreed with that, saying that he and Jemma, his wife, had an extremely high alcohol tolerance, so they weren’t drunk. They were simply slightly tipsy, enjoying life but the bar man at the last bar they visited had refused to serve them, saying that they were far too drunk and that any more alcohol would not be good, and that they would thank him in the morning, though he muttered under his breath that it probably didn’t matter at this point. They would be having some of the worst hangovers known to man the next morning anyway.

So they had left, and decided not to attend anymore bars. Jemma had let out a yawn, her hand covering her mouth as she did so. Fitz had noticed immediately, and told her they were going back to the hotel, that they needed their sleep. They had had a very busy day after all. Sleeping would be good, rest would be nice.

However, there was the small issue of actually getting back to the hotel, their mode of transport no longer being in their possession. They had no idea where their hotel actually was, they were just walking into what looked like the busiest area, and hoping that they could find it.

Jemma leaned in close to Fitz, stumbling over her feet. This wasn’t the first time she had been drunk (and somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the last; she already felt awful, the buzz of the drink having now worn off), and she had mastered the ability to walk drunk when the world was spinning in front of her but it was still hard in high heels. They were staring to hurt her feet and she knew there would be blisters in the morning that sober Jemma would hate her for (that being said, there would be a number of things that future Jemma, sober Jemma, sensible Jemma would hate her for, blisters being something low down on the list); and they weren’t even the shoes Jemma had started the night out in.

She had gotten these ones at her wedding, soft flimsy white things that provided little support. She had changed them, the shoes she had been wearing weren’t good enough for the wedding. And her wedding had to be perfect, thankfully which it had been. It was more than perfect and she loved it so much. Not as much as she loved Fitz though. She could never love anything or anyone as much as she loved Fitz. Fitz was perfect. Fitz was divine. Fitz was magnificent. Fitz was better than perfect.

She was so lost in thought that she almost missed Fitz calling her name.

She turned to face him, a smile dancing across her face. “Yes?”

“Taxi,” he said, lifting the arm, the one which he was using to hold hers and point to the taxi bay that was just up ahead of them. “Makes it easier to get home.”

“Of course,” Jemma relied, completely agreeing with him. It would make it much easier to get home. Then they could get into bed, and curl up and sleep. That would be nice. She quickened her pace, trying to keep her balance, barely succeeding and dragged him to the first available taxi.

She pulled open the door, and let him go in first, and he slid across the seats, and she climbed in after him.

Once the door was closed and they were both securely buckled in, the driver turned around and smiled at them. “Where to?”

Jemma froze, her stomach twisting in horror. She couldn’t remember the name of her hotel, the place they were staying. She was sure that she was probably gaping at the poor woman who was driving their taxi. “I think,” she tried. “I think it begins with a B…”

“The Bellagio?” the taxi driver offered.

“Yes!” Jemma screamed in response, maybe a bit too loudly. “That’s it,” she tried again, not as loud this time. “Thank you.”

The taxi driver nodded, then turned around, starting the vehicle.

As they drove through the streets of Vegas, Jemma leaned into Fitz, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she had just started to drift off when a sudden curst from Fitz awoke her.

“What is it?” she asked, opening her eyes and tilting her head up to look at him.

She could feel his body tense as he spoke. “My cane. Your party hats. I don’t know where they are.”

She was about to tell him he last had them at the wedding, maybe he had left them there when her hands shot to her mouth. Her stomach when it had twisted earlier, it hadn’t been because she was nervous.

Moments later, she felt the car stop, and someone open the door, the night air on her face as she threw up on the street, her husband holding her hair back.

***

They had decided that walking back to their hotel was the safer of two options, Jemma’s stomach seemingly not able to handle the movement of the car. Or maybe it was just all the alcohol, eventually disagreeing with her.

And she felt like crap after. Her stomach hurt even more, there was a slight pounding at her temples and her feet felt like they were on fire. The shoes were rubbing into them, her toes hurt and all she wanted to do was take them off. She would walk back to their hotel room barefoot if she had to.

At one point, she saw a bench and flopped down on it, and lifted her foot, and worked on trying to unfasten the buckle. Eventually, she did, throwing it to the ground and moved on to the next one.

“Jemma?” Fitz asked, looking at her discarded shoes. “Is everything okay?”

She smiled up at him. “It’s much better now.”

He shook his head. “You can’t walk home in your bare feet!” He stared down at her, outraged by the very prospect and then sat next to her and took off his own shoes, passing them to her.

It was her turn to look aghast at him. “Fitz! What about you! I can’t… I won’t let you get injured for me. Not again.”

He simply smiled at her, and reached for her shoes, and after some difficulty, he managed to get them on.

A little unsteadily, he rose and stood in front of her, doing some sort of gesture with his arms as if telling her to check him out and see how he looked.

She did, of course she did. She wasn’t going to deny a chance to check him out. And she couldn’t deny; he really did make those high heels work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support on this, it really makes me smile.


	7. I'm A Scholar And A Gentleman (And I Usually Don't Fall When I Try To Stand)

“What do you think?” he asked, looking down at himself, then turning his attention back to his wife. “Do they suit me?”

Jemma tilted her head to the side, biting on the left side of her lip. Then she rose herself, and walked around him, examining every angle of him that she possibly could and dragging this out as long as she could. Because it was Fitz. Fitz would understand. Fitz wouldn’t mind. Because Fitz loved her. He was her best friend, her husband, her everything. It took her a minute to work her way around him, as she stumbled in his slightly too large shoes (something that did not make walking easier, but in fact, made it harder) and she did get slightly distracted by his bottom (but it was a very nice bottom so of course she was going to admire it. It would be a crime not to!) and eventually, she made her way so that she was standing in front of him again. She nodded, slowly and carefully. She didn’t want to throw up again, not on her wedding night. She beamed at him. “You look amazing.”

She held out a hand, and he took it, their fingers interlocking and interlacing. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, maybe a tad harder than he meant to, the alcohol in his system clouding his mind, and soon the two of them were walking down the street, hand in hand, their arms swinging slightly. They didn’t really know where the hotel was, but they didn’t not know either. The taxi driver, before they had let her go about her business, hopefully with less vomiting, had given them directions back to their hotel that Jemma had a vague memory of. She may have more drink in her system than she ever had before but she was still Jemma Anne Simmons, who had her first doctorate years before people her age had even started University. She had survived on a desert alien planet and had managed to survive within Hydra. She should be able to find her way back to the hotel despite being slightly drunk.

Jemma so lost in her drunken argument in her mind that she almost missed Fitz stumbling. Almost. She felt a sudden tug on her arm, and she was terrified for the briefest of seconds that he was going to pull it from her very socket as he collapsed to the ground, letting out a high shriek as he did so.

He hit the ground hard, his knees slamming into the concrete. He must have gone over on his ankle, the heels probably being the reason why. He cursed loudly, and grabbed the shoes, pulling them off and throwing them to the side, damning them as he did so.

“Fitz?” Jemma asked, her voice laced with concern as she slowly lowered herself to the ground so that she was level with him. “You okay?” But then she saw it, the bloodied stain on his trouser leg and she frowned. “Oh Fitz. Do you want me to have a look at it?”

He remained silent for a moment as of considering this question and then nodded. Of course Jemma should look at it, she was a doctor after all. “Thanks,” he whispered to her, knowing that to anyone besides Jemma, and possibly his mum, they wouldn’t be able to understand what he was saying, his accent would be too thick and heavy.

Jemma reached forward, pulling at the knee of his trouser leg only to find that the fabric was in the way of his injury, her lips curving down into a frown. “You’re gonna need to take them off.”

“What?” he asked, not sure that he had heard her right. “Strip? I’m not stripping in public?”

“Ugh Fitz,” she complained, unsure if she were rolling her eyes or not since the world was spinning so very fast at this point. “If I can’t see your injury then how am I supposed to treat it?”

Fitz didn’t have a response to this, because Jemma was right. Standing up again, still unsteady on his feet but less so now that he had lost the heels, he wiggled out of his trousers, dumping them on the ground with the heels and then sat back down, showing his leg to Jemma.

She felt her heart break upon seeing the injury, the skin slightly cut with only the faintest bit of blood, and she looked up at him with wide sad eyes. “Oh Fitz, I am so so sorry. I don’t have anything with me to help, I can’t stich this up!” And then she started crying, at the horrible realisation that she was unable to help him at the moment.

Fitz, at this moment, felt helpless. His wife was sitting here crying because she thought he was in pain and he wasn’t able to do anything about it. “Hey,” he whispered to her, shuffling around so that he could wrap his arms around her, something that he struggled with due to the size of her wedding dress. “It’s just a cut,” he reassured, placing a kiss to her temple. “It’s just a cut.”

“But I want to help!” she sobbed, hating the fact that she was useless and couldn’t do anything. “I have to fix this.”

“You don’t. Not this time. You don’t have to fix this Jemma.”

She didn’t answer, a silence forming between them only pierced by her sobs every so often and it was another ten minutes before she spoke again. “There’s one thing I can do,” she hiccoughed.

She bent her head down, ignoring the pounding in it, and placed a gentle kiss on the cut.

***

Somehow, they made it back to their hotel room with no more injuries (the trousers and the heels remained abandoned on the street still). It was a relief that they had gotten back, Jemma sliding Fitz’s shoes off as soon as she entered the room. “Sleep?” she just about managed to ask before a yawn overtook her and Fitz nodded, already getting changed into his pyjamas.

Jemma looked down at herself, as if only just realising that she was still in her wedding dress. “Oh.”

After wrestling his pyjama bottoms on, Fitz looked back at her, and lifted one of his old tops. “Need any help?”

“Please.”

And together, and without causing any damage, they managed to get Jemma out of her wedding dress and into one of Fitz’s old tops. Once she was comfortable, she climbed into the bed, patting the space beside her and smiled at Fitz. “Coming?” she asked when he looked a little unsteady on his feet.

He nodded, “Yeah, course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He padded his way across the room and climbed into the bed with her and her head immediately went to rest on his chest, feeling his heart beating. It was nice, hearing that oh so vital organ pumping blood around him.

Before she could comment on that, her eyes started to flutter shut. “Goodnight Doctor FitzSimmons,” she told him, moments before sleep claimed her.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, a soft display of affection. “Goodnight Doctor FitzSimmons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes, drunken FitzSimmons times. But worry not, the final two chapters deal with what comes next. Thanks so much for checking out, I hope that you enjoyed this update.


	8. And We All Fell Down When The Sun Came Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil heads up there's mention of vomit in this!

When the sun broke through the curtains the next morning, Jemma let out a long low groan and pulled the covers over her head, trying to hide in the darkness. It was much nicer than the light that was overwhelming her senses, only making her feel worse. She also tried to fight the wave of sickness that threatened to overwhelm her, the churning in her stomach.

She felt awful, she really did; the world spinning around her and what little light broke into her pile of covers hurt her head, well caused it more pain as it already felt like her skull was splitting.

It took her a moment to realise that she was alone in the bed, that Fitz wasn’t there with her, like he had been every morning since they had gotten together. Not that she was surprised, if he felt even half as bad as she was then he would be in the bathroom, hanging over the toilet. Probably throwing up whatever remained in his guts at this point.

And to be fair, she wanted to do the same.

They really must have had a lot to drink last night, not that she could remember most of it. It was all a blur; she remembered going to a number of pubs with Fitz, before seeing an English one and deciding it would be their last one before they called it a night. Clearly, that had _not_ been the case. She had semi-clear memories of getting into a drinking contest with one of her exs from years ago they just happened to bump into. After that, after a number of rounds being bought for the bar, things started to turn hazy.

She remembered going to a party shop.

She remembered a shopping trolley.

She remembered chicken nuggets.

But the memories were just hazy, vague snippets that tried to push their way to the forefront of her mind but no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to make any sense of them.

It was causing her head to swim all the more violently and her stomach just turned in an instant and she shot up (too quick, far too quickly) and she couldn’t help throwing up.

Thankfully, not onto either the bed or her lap. Someone had given her a bin and she had thrown up into that. The person who was there held her hair back and rubbed their hand up and down her back, reassuring her that she was okay, that it was all going to be okay.

She remained like that for a number of moments, until her stomach settled, or settled as much as it could. She groaned once again as the smell flooded her and then the plastic object was removed from her possession, and set down somewhere she didn’t know where. She was thankful for this as she though had the thing remained near her for a moment longer, the smell would have made her throw up again.

“Morning,” came a voice from beside her. They were speaking in a soft whisper, obviously knowing that noise would have annoyed her at that point in time. She turned her head, slowly so as not to make herself ill again and opened her eyes, squinting against the light that had penetrated the curtains of their hotel room, finding a one Lance Hunter sitting there.

“Hunter?” she asked him. “What are you… what are you doing here?”

He grinned at her. “You messaged us last night, demanding that we came. And after seeing all your pics, we thought it was best that we come see if you were okay.”

“Oh God,” Jemma muttered knowing that if there had been pictures and her friends were here, then it must be bad. Really bad. “And Fitz?”

“In the bathroom. Bobbi and Daisy are with him.”

“Oh God.” She buried her face in her hands, too ashamed to look at Hunter, too ashamed of her actions despite not knowing what they were.

Hunter gave a small chuckle. “Trust me, you’ll be hanging for a while love, but it’ll pass.”

She lifted her head out of hands, taking care not to throw up again. “I can’t remember much of what happened last night Lance.”

“Ahhh,” he said, his tone changing as if he were hiding something, as if he knew something that she didn’t, and to be fair, that was probably true. “That… You two did a lot of things last night.”

“Where any of them bad? Illegal?” Jemma asked, wanting to know what had happened, hating the empty void in her mind.

Hunter shook his head quickly, maybe picking up on the fear that she was currently experiencing. “God, no. You did nothing illegal. But…”

“But what?”

He sighed. “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Lance… what is it?” She was trying hard _not_ to freak out but she couldn’t help it. She felt the fear flowing through her, electrifying every nerve and chilling her blood.

He sighed, reaching over and taking a hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over it. “You and Fitz, you got married last night.”

She stared at him for a moment, taking in what Hunter had just told her. That her and Fitz had gotten **_married_** last night. That they were now husband and wife. The idea was just so ridiculous that she laughed. Surely no one would have married the two of them, not with the state that had been in. They would have said no. They would have told them that they were not in a sound mind to make decisions like that, to consent to getting married. And maybe either she or Fitz, had thought they had gotten married and had texted the team that they had gotten married. Maybe they had even texted the team inviting them to a wedding and Hunter had misread the text. Yes, that's probably what had happened. A simple misunderstanding. But they couldn’t be married. _They couldn’t be married_. They just couldn't.

But Hunter didn’t seem to think that it was funny, he was just staring at her, eyes wide. “Jemma, you _actually_ got married. You sent the forms to me by email last night.” He nodded down to her left hand and she saw that there was a ring on it, glistening slightly. And then she looked up again and at where Hunter was now staring.

At the massive wedding dress that was lying on the floor.

“We actually got married,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

She had gotten married. Her and Fitz were now married. A couple, a legally married couple. Husband and wife. Spouses. “Oh God,” she groaned.

“We’ll work out something,” Hunter reassured her but she could tell that he was also at a loss for what to do to. “We’re going to work something out.”

“Jemma?” came a new voice this time, calling her name. She spun to face it, Fitz standing there, looking awful, in nothing but an old t-shirt and a pair of underwear. A gold band gleamed on his finger.

Her husband.

_Oh fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go guys! Thanks so much for all the support on this, it makes me smile so much!


	9. I Think We've Had Enough

It was another number of hours before everyone arrived back on base, the two scientists’ hangovers all but gone now (thanks to the tablets that Jemma always kept on base. They were something she had made in her Academy days and always came in handy, like at Christmas when Hunter had had one too many shots of whiskey). Neither of them had yet discussed the fact that they were now legally married, they hadn’t yet worked up the courage to. It was such a huge, monumental thing, that they had gotten married and discussing it just seemed too scary.

Thankfully, no one had said anything to them, no one had teased them about it like she had thought they would had (and she couldn’t help but wonder if May and Coulson maybe had something to do with it. Whether they did or not, she was more thankful however). No one had congratulated them either, they had just let the two scientists return to the base as if nothing had happened. They still had the rest of the weekend off, Coulson telling them that they didn’t have to work.

Jemma had been thankful, heading to her bunk while Fitz had gone to the lab, muttering something under his breath about wanting to draw up some plans before he forgot about them. Closing the door behind her, she sighed and shook her head, thinking through all that had happened the past night. Well, what she remembered and what she had been told.

Sitting on the bed, she sighed and looked at the ring that was on her finger, it was a simple band of silver as though it were to mirror Fitz’s. It was simple, too simple for her liking, and she spun it around and around. It was slightly too big, as if she chose it just to have one, as if she picked the first one she saw without really thinking about it.

Sighing, she collapsed back on the bed and rubbed at her face, thinking about what she was going to say, because they had to speak about this, they had to talk about this, it couldn’t be one of their conversations that never happened.

And then she thought about her parents, Fitz’s mum, and how they were going to explain all of this to them. There was so much to think about, groaning, she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

She didn’t know how long she was lost wallowing in self-pity for when she heard a knock on her door, and she looked up at it, still closed.

“Jemma?” came Daisy’s voice from the other side, full of love and full of concern. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”

Jemma paused for a moment, thinking and eventually, she said yes, inviting Daisy in. The door creaked open and her friend smiled in at her. Jemma couldn’t help but think how similar this moment was to when Daisy had come to visit her after she returned home from Maveth. “You okay?” Daisy asked, closing the door behind her and joined Jemma on the bed.

Jemma let out a breath and shrugged. “I’m married Daisy.”

Daisy offered her a simple smile. “I know.”

Jemma shook her head. “I’m married. God, I can’t believe I let that happen.” She rubbed at her eyes again before dropping her gaze, unable to meet Daisy’s anymore.

“Mistakes happen, Jemma,” Daisy reassured her, wrapping her arm around her friend and pulling her in close. It took Jemma a moment to allow herself to be pulled into the hug but in the end, she did, allowing her head to come and rest on Daisy’s shoulder. Tears she didn’t even know she had started to make tracks down her face. “Hey,” Daisy whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her friend’s hair to reassure her. “It’s okay, not matter what you decide to do, not matter what happens next, we’ll be here for you.”

Jemma nodded, knowing that Daisy’s words were true, that no matter what happened, her team, her _family_ would be there for her.

***

Later that evening, she was curled up with Fitz on his bed, her head resting against his chest, a mug of tea in her hand. “Fitz,” she eventually spoke, a sigh escaping her. “We need to talk about us, about what happened. About us.”

He set his own mug of tea down and they both looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between the two of them. “We’re married,” he eventually said and Jemma nodded.

“We are.” She paused, thinking through her words, hoping that Fitz would agree with whatever that she was thinking. “I don’t think… I don’t think that we should spilt up Fitz.”

He frowned at her, a look of confusion sweeping across his face. “You do?”

She nodded. “I love you Fitz, I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone… There’s no one else I would rather spend my life with.” She trailed off, not sure where to go next. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, as though it were threatening to burst and her palms felt sweaty. She saw the look on his face, a mixture of confusion, panic and something else, something that she couldn’t put her finger on. “But only if you want too!” she added quickly, the words almost blurring into one as they escaped her.

Fitz just shook his head, smiling at her, a twinkle in his eyes. He set his own mug down and cupped her face. He beamed at her, before dipping his head in closer and allowing his to dance across hers, a soft gentle kiss that was something more than a kiss, it was a promise. “I would happily spend the rest of my life with you Jemma. Every birthday, every Christmas, every day. But what about the wedding that you’ve always wanted, the wedding with your friends, your family, everyone you love?”

Jemma shakes her head. “I still want that, but a life with you, Fitz, that’s something that I want more. I don’t care…”

“Then marry me,” he interrupted her and she blinked at him, eyes wide in shock. “Marry me.”

She scrunched up her face in confusion. “We’re already married…”

“Then marry me again, but this time, we’ll have that wedding, the one that you want, the one that _we_ want, with our families, our friends, and maybe we can have it in Perthshire?”

Jemam felt her heart nearly stop beating at his question, at just what he was telling her. She nodded slowly, taking in everything. She allowed herself to kiss him once again, her lips dancing over his, allowing herself to enjoy the moment.

When they eventually pulled apart for air, Jemma’s head resting against his, Fitz cupping her cheek once again she nodded again, a light laugh escaping her as the edges of her lips curved up. “Yes, Fitz, I will marry you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that this Au is over, I had so much fun writing it, I hope that you had as much fun reading it. Thank you to everyone who subscribed, bookmarked, commented, left kudos or simply read, you guys are amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> The Bellagio is that cool hotel with the fountains. I'm gonna try and use iconic places in this to make it more interesting and realistic, and hopefully that works. So, their drinking session is about to begin. I really hope that you enjoyed this. All titles come from Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time by Panic! At the Disco. Marvel owns all.  
> And yes, Todd is named after Todd from Bojack Horseman because that show is truly a piece of art.


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